


Moustache Allergy

by Asuka Kureru (Askerian)



Series: Bleach daemon AU [6]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Daemon Touching, Depowered Kurosaki Ichigo, Emotional Roller Coaster, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-12 01:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19218754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Askerian/pseuds/Asuka%20Kureru
Summary: It does things to him, watching Kurosaki play at swords, and none of them are good, joke-inducing things.--Grimmjow has a lot of feelings, in a lot of directions. It's the price to pay for having his daemon back, he supposes, but dang. Follows A Modest Proposal (the "I Can't Believe It's Not Cannibalism" edition).





	Moustache Allergy

**Author's Note:**

> tangle of several prompts:
> 
> -Daemon au - I am so curious about how Grimmjow fells about having emotions about Ichigo. Like, going from only feeling anger and hunger straight into daemon-married to someone must be a real jump. Is it annoying? Overwhelming? Just a new fact of life? He seems pretty chill with it it A Modest Proposal. I'm just so curious!
> 
> -i'd be hella surprised if nobody asked yet, but for the grimmichi daemon au: first time ichigo touches leucanthe? 
> 
> -Could we have Grimmichi daemon AU first kiss? I´ve been thinking about a first date for them but then again, Grimmjow does not date :P

"--no, twist your wrist more, like so, niño--"

"Oh, I see! Thanks, Donbori."

"It's _Dordoni_ ," Dordoni Alessandro del Soccacio, arrancar cientecimo tercero, Privaron Espada, huffs back without breaking his stance. 

Grimmjow leans against the doorway to watch, arms crossed. Dordoni and Kurosaki are facing off on the stretch of dead earth in front of Waki and Kisuke's shop with thin strips of wood in hand like swords, a black lioness orbiting a just-as-black cow.

It's apparently a cow bred for bullfighting, all lean and mean and well-horned, and not at all some kind of dairy cattle. It's an insult to even mention the two might be related. 

"My bad, Dormancy," Kurosaki says, apparently entirely earnest, as he lunges with his little bit of wood held like a fencing foil to try to poke Dordoni in the guts; but Dordoni's eyes flick to the door and he steps back, lifting up the tip of his improvised sword.

Grimmjow isn't too sure what his face is doing but apparently it's giving the guy a reason to look cautious. Whatever.

"Someone's there? Hey," Kurosaki says carelessly, waving his wood-holding hand and barely glancing back at the door. Because he can't see shit, and he doesn't wanna look like he's trying anyway. Rikuto betrays him, squinting past the cow's legs. "You wanna spar too, just get in a gigai and we can have a three way."

 _That's pretty fucking kinky_ , Grimmjow wants to say. Grimmjow wants Leucanthe to have said. 

Or maybe something about how he thought Kurosaki didn't wanna have to share.

It does things to him, watching Kurosaki play at swords, and none of them are good, joke-inducing things.

"Did you just come back, Don Grimmjow?"

It's... a little gratifying when both Kurosakis immediately turn to the door, sword and cow forgotten. "Grimmjow? Oh thank fuck."

Kurosaki moves closer, blindly, hesitates when he gets to the door. Grimmjow catches his elbow. 

"Whoa -- hey." He grins up slightly to the side, pats around trying to find Grimmjow's arm. Goes right through, because Grimmjow can touch him but Ichigo can't touch back. "You seen Urahara yet? How did it go?" 

Grimmjow doesn't bother answering. He just stares at Dordoni, trying to figure out how annoyed he is, _why_ he is. It feels very territorial bullshit, which happens to him sometimes. He thinks he'd be just fine if the Kurosakis were playing around with Di Roy or Edrad, but Dordoni is not his fracción. They got no business being all friendly and trusting at each other... and that's _definitely_ territorial bullshit. Kurosakis trust as they will.

Even when they're so _weak_ that their only means of safety would be to get folded into someone's fracción, because on their own they have nothing left to defend their life with. What the fuck does Dordoni _want_ from them.

"Did you want to say something to me, Don Grimmjow?"

"... Nah."

He probably just wants to be friends. 

That's one thing Kurosaki has left. His impossible ability to inflict trust on the unsuspecting and broker weirdass alliances. Though he really isn't cynical enough about it to -- 

He's human. Not a hollow. He doesn't have to make a choice between useful and dead. Grimmjow doesn't have to make a choice for him. He turns on his heels and drags Kurosaki along after him, hand sliding from elbow to wrist when Kurosaki stumbles.

If Rikuto were in reach he might catch her by the ruff and carry her along like a wayward kitten. Lucky that she's not. 

"Grimmjow?" she asks, trotting on their heels. "Everything go okay over there? Squeeze once for yes, twice for no."

Grimmjow has no fucking idea what to answer. Objectively everything went fine. He found the stuff, no one tried him. The sands were nicely familiar, he understood every single interaction he had with the locals, he got himself some damn respect and a good meal while he was at it.

He has lowkey been sitting on an urge to go resurrección on the whole of Las Noches and every single asshole still haunting its ruins. Every asshole he walked by down in Kisuke's basement. Kisuke and Waki themselves and just -- fucking. Everything. 

"Grimmjow, you're leaving bruises."

"--Fuck." He lets go all at once; then wants to grab him again. They're so close to the room where his gigai waits (where Leucanthe waits, even though she's technically with him already.) He doesn't; just slides the door open with a rattling thump and stalks through. It's a clear enough sign, he hopes.

"Ahh, there you are, Grimmjow-san," Tessai's Hirone says, craning her neck past the lip of her shell to look at him. "You're right there on the table."

"We'll be waiting outside," Tessai adds. "Clothes are on the chair."

The man and his tortoise plod past him to the door as Grimmjow comes to a stop by the gigai -- still a featureless humanoid blob but _his_ featureless humanoid blob; nobody else has been inside it. Urahara said it was better that way, even with all the storage issues, and he can't feel any foreign reiatsu.

Tessai is herding Kurosaki away from the door.

"No, let them in."

"--Are you sure? Very well. Kurosaki-san, do you want to come in?"

"Oh, yeah." Ichigo looks a little curious, a little flustered. He's smiling. Rikuto bounds by him, then brakes hard, ears and tail straight up. "Umm, Grimmjow, where are you?"

Grimmjow hops onto the table; waves at Tessai offhandedly.

"He's out of the way," Tessai reassures Rikuto, and gives them all a weird, too-long look before he finally closes the fucking door.

"Okay, I, uh. I'm just gonna. Wait here. Does it take long? Probably not, right? Gigai usually don't--"

Grimmjow sinks in.

It still fucking hurts. Nothing Urahara has tried makes it hurt any less. It's still gotta force out a part of him. Like shitting out his own stomach, he swears. But he can take pain, they can take it, they _have_ to take it and oh _hell_ no this time he won't scream (he screams.) 

Squashed, again. He closes his eyes and presses his face against Leucanthe's fur. She's shuddering over him; she growls, low and rolling but with a whine underlining it, something high-pitched with distress.

"Grimmjow!" "Leucanthe! Hey!"

He sits up somehow -- Leucanthe shifts back just enough to sit between his legs, halfway on his pelvis. Ichigo's hands are on the edge of the table and so are Rikuto's massive paws and they both have the same wide-eyed half-wincing smile on their faces.

"Wow, man," Rikuto says, ears flipped back, "it looked like it really hurt, I didn't know that. You -- you guys okay?"

Grimmjow throws an arm around Ichigo's neck and drags him in, hand fisted in the hair at the back of his head. Stops himself, trembling with rage and want and too many things, a hangover of damn _feelings_. He -- 

He. Doesn't. He stops. Stares, trying to breathe. 

Ichigo doesn't fight him at all.

They stare at each other and he doesn't know what's on his own face, he barely knows what's on Ichigo's. Leucanthe is bristled up from nape to tail-tip.

Ichigo is just staring back -- intense and, and, he doesn't fucking know, what the hell does he know about people and feeling, why does he _care_ , he--

Ichigo joins his two hands together at the back of Grimmjow's head and pulls him in, fingers laced to cradle his skull, and then it's all pressure and wet heat, hot breathing against his skin, inside his mouth. He doesn't -- there's nothing else for a while, just that, the push of Ichigo's mouth against his, the heels of his rough palms against the sides of his neck. 

A kiss. Right. That's a kiss. 

He opens his mouth and makes it deeper, dives in with his tongue and his desperate fury; Ichigo inhales sharply through his nose, returns it. They're both holding on bruise-tight but he doesn't care, he wants -- it does nothing for him, this kiss, apart from telling him, _yeah, get in, get inside all the soft and slick defenseless parts of me, put them in your mouth like everything else you've devoured._

He rears back against Ichigo's hold with a sharp inhale, a growl; then he's diving back for his jaw, his neck, biting a trail down the side of it to the shoulder. His teeth find cloth and he hisses, he goes back up. Head tilted, eyes closed, nose to the underside of his jaw.

He breathes. Surrounded by meaty, salty, _human_ scent, he breathes.

How can this man be so fucking fragile. It's obscene. Repugnant.

Ichigo's arms are around him, holding on, and it freaks him out a bit knowing he's caught and might have to fight his way out, but not as much as he thought it would. The tight hold is nice. Warm. They can be doing that for another hour, that's cool. He makes himself breathe slower and shifts around to bring his legs over the edge of the table instead of sitting sideways; Kurosaki starts trying to move back, but Grimmjow is still holding onto his hair and refuses to let him go. He slips his legs around his waist, tightens his knees, hooks him closer with his heels. 

He's a bit higher now and it's awkward to round his back so low in order to still be able to press against his neck, but like fuck if he cares. He's bendy. He can work with it.

"So... Not okay, then," Ichigo says quietly. He doesn't loosen his hold; if any, he tightens it. Good. Grimmjow isn't into holding onto people who don't hold back just as ferociously.

He has no fucking clue how to explain any of it. How to put words on this storm of. Of things. Feelings. Knowledge. Awareness, decisions, refusals. 

"Mngh," he manages.

Leucanthe is pressed against his flank, her head heavy on his shoulder; she snuffles at Ichigo's throat, too, breathes on it. Grimmjow feels him shiver. 

"... Being without her was bad?"

"Mm." He feels calmer now. Not necessarily better, but. He makes himself breathe out, relax his hold, sit up straighter. He leaves his arms around Ichigo's shoulders, though. "Everything was a fucking murder offense."

Ichigo and Rikuto blink, mildly alarmed. "Did you... actually murder people over it."

Grimmjow rolls his eyes a little. " _No_ , because I'm real good at sitting on my murder urges. You know why? Because they're _feelings_ , and without her I feel _jack fucking shit_."

"Not actually true," Leucanthe points out, and digs her hairy chin into his shoulder. He growls. "But let's say that stuff is pretty dampened."

Ichigo bites his lip like he's trying to cover a smile, like he thinks he shouldn't be finding anything about this funny. Grimmjow quirks an eyebrow at him imperiously, and he gives in. "Just thinking that if you during the war was you not feeling _that_ murderous..."

The last of his and Leucanthe's hackles go down, somehow. "... I've never been the kind of guy who needed to _feel_ murderous to be capable of it, Shinigami," he admits quietly, voice rough. "Kinda always been the type who actually needs more of a reason not to."

The Kurosakis are staring now, intense and alert, not quite wary. Not wary of them at all, actually, just still weighing how seriously they oughta take it.

"It's not like I was a serial killer or anything," he says, and lets one of his hands slide off, rest onto the table. His other hand is tugging absently at the longuish hair at the back of Ichigo's neck. "Don't think I actually did off anyone while I was alive, unless that happened toward the end. That part's murky. But if we had a serious beef with another gang I had to remind myself of shit. Like, cops were a thing. Freaking out my friends was a thing. Disappointing my mother was a thing."

Ichigo watches him for another handful of seconds, stretching out silently between them, and then leans into him and hugs him again, jaw resting on Grimmjow's shoulder.

"You're way too much trouble, Jaegerjaquez."

"Mm."

"So what _were_ you feeling, then, during the war?" Rikuto asks cautiously from the floor.

Pfft. "A lot of 'how dare you', to be honest. I pretty much ran on offense and spite." He kneads at the back of Ichigo's neck thoughtlessly, tilting his head into him, eyes closed. 

Ichigo makes a noise of acknowledgement. 

He's warm. He smells nothing like ozone and power anymore but he does smell intriguing. Grimmjow finds that he enjoys feeling, hearing him breathe. 

"... Were you pissed off at Don Panini? By the way."

" _Ugh_. Do we gotta care about that. I ain't gonna hurt him."

"He's basically your second in command down here. Or more like your liaison? Your second in command would probably be Edrad. I don't know, but he's _something_."

His second in command is Shawlong, but Shawlong is dead. Grimmjow pushes that aside for later. Edrad was third in line anyway.

"He's second strongest and _nothing else_ to me."

"That sounded grumpy."

"Fuck off."

"He says, while cuddling up to me. Oh, by the way, we're definitely dating now."

"...We are," Grimmjow echoes, his doubt heavy in every syllable, as he leans back to stare at him.

Ichigo stares back in challenge, chin tilted up a tempting little bit. "Unless you wanna tell me about Don Panini, yeah."

Grimmjow will _die under torture_ before he tells Ichigo how powerlessly _incandescent with rage_ it makes him feel to watch him swish around a bit of wood from the ground when he has lost his sword. He looks away, lets his other hand slip off, too.

Ichigo's hands trail from his neck to his shoulders; his eyes skid away in the other direction.

"Do you ever miss fighting me with blades?" he asks, lightly, like he doesn't care. On the floor Rikuto is grooming pointedly.

"No," Grimmjow snaps back. "You fucking suck at swordplay, always using power to make up for your shitty technique."

Ichigo turns to blink at him. "... Wow, spare my feelings, why don't you." He snorts. He looks a little less muted, though. 

"Eh. We're brawlers too," Leucanthe says. "More than anything else. Brawling with you is good, and at least this way you can't fucking cheat."

"Heh. Yeah." Ichigo brightens, daemon perking up, letting out a little trill. "I guess it's good that he's teaching me, then! Can't overcharge them and hide the shoddy technique underneath. That way when I..." 

_When I get Zangetsu back_ , Grimmjow hears, but Kurosaki can't make himself finish.

"How's Zangetsu anything like those toothpicks he fights with, again," he says with weary tenderness, and curls his hand around Ichigo's neck again to kiss his mouth. He lingers for a second, then gives him an eyeroll. "You're gonna foul up your muscle memory."

"... Mmm."

Grimmjow watches him and his sad eyes, his downturned face. He doesn't know how to fix that. Pantera isn't shaped anything like Zangetsu either and he uses her mostly as a complement to his kicks and punches and various power attacks. Ichigo uses Zangetsu both like a conduit and like a shield, and balancing out its mass changes the way he moves by quite a bit.

Honestly the only still-living arrancar that have swords anywhere close to Zangetsu's weight class are Harribel and her fracción Mila Rose. And Harribel's blade is hollowed out, and neither of them are that wide.

That and for all they know Kisuke and Waki won't succeed (there is no way they aren't _trying_ but) and the Kurosakis are fucked and won't find their powers again until they die. Which means, what, fifty, seventy more years of this shit? Maybe a hundred. He can wait, but can Ichigo? What's that gonna do to him, being so powerless for so long? What's that gonna do to his soul? Will Rikuto's teeth yellow and her claws dull and her coat fall off, will she thin into a wisp of her former self, will --

... What if their power was so deeply destroyed that even when they finally die their sword never comes back.

"--Tight!" 

He releases Ichigo's neck. That's another bruise. Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

At his side Leucanthe has popped her claws into the table. She tugs them out one by one, plop-plop-plop, deliberate and tightly controlled. 

Ichigo hasn't stepped away from them, though the way he rubs at the back of his neck is a bit... Annoyed. Frustrated. Something that creases his brow and makes Rikuto's tail sweep in irritation across the floor. 

"Okay, you guys have got to talk to us," Rikuto says, glowering up. "You're being moody as hell. What's going on?"

Grimmjow opens his mouth; closes it. He doesn't even fucking know. 

It's not like he didn't know Ichigo was fucking crippled already. He spent almost a whole year thinking it through and deciding he didn't care. 

He still doesn't. He doesn't care, _for himself_. But it --

"It's not _fair_ ," Leucanthe spits out as she turns to look at Grimmjow, jowls curling up with disdain at herself for being stupid enough to even utter the word.

"What--"

Grimmjow shakes his head, jaw clenched tight. He wants to hear his mask's fangs creak under the pressure but he only has a weak little human jaw right now and it doesn't feel the same.

"Never mind," he rasps out, and drags Ichigo in by the elbows until they're chest to chest. Leucanthe presses behind him to curl around his back, heavy, fur sliding against his skin. 

"So is he the only sorry bastard who gets cuddles?" she rasps out, half ducked behind Grimmjow's shoulder and sounding resentful.

Resentful is not what he's feeling. It's -- he. 

He's wanted Kurosaki's hands on Leucanthe before there even was a Leucanthe, back when he was still sitting on his ass in Urahara's basement dust and trying to find a good reason not to smite every single arrancar breathing in his hearing, because _Kurosaki would have been disappointed_.

Just a way to complete the circuit at first, to repay the debt. Just faintly embarrassing curiosity. Would this be such an intense jolt the next time around? Would it be stronger because it was his own? Not a prey's, not some random asshole's tattered mess of a soul, swallowed down grimacing for a moment's relief and then forgotten? 

He owes Kurosaki as much, but if he never takes him up on it, Grimmjow's gonna be... disappointed.

Ichigo's pale skin flushes; he can feel the heat in the cheek pressing to his. Huh. Rikuto is staring up at him and her golden eyes are open wide, the pupils blown huge.

"If you haven't decided yet," he forces out, "that's fine. Whatever."

"No," Ichigo replies, and his voice is quiet. "No, I've decided."

Then both their daemons are on the table with Grimmjow. Leucanthe is still curled around Grimmjow's back but Rikuto presses up against her chest and ends up real close, rubs her cheeks insistently against her face, purring intermittently. Grimmjow chokes.

"--Mutual?"

He didn't think he had enough of a sense of propriety left to be shocked, but he is. Shocked and into it. Holy shit.

He's never seen Ichigo's face so red, or his eyes so dazed, so dark with the pupils huge and hungry.

"...No. Not yet. I want -- I don't want to be distracted."

Grimmjow starts smirking almost despite himself, slow and hot with want, mostly to tease, partly because Kurosaki will never stop surprising him and he is just fucking _delighted_ about that. Leucanthe starts purring too, a low, broken croon, nuzzles up Grimmjow's shoulder and stretches her neck as far as it will go over it, eyes intent on Ichigo's face, maw cracked open to breathe him in on her tongue. 

"--Is it too fast," Ichigo asks, his hand frozen two inches from her nose. Rikuto growls, ears flattened back, and swipes at her own human with her huge paw. 

"Oh my god," she snarls, "who _cares_ , did you want to touch dingalongs first? Did we forget to court for a year and eleven months first? Handfasting? Auspicious moon? _Who cares?!_ "

Rikuto and Ichigo are so often so weirdly divided between what they want and what they think they should do. Grimmjow doesn't get that, but he still simmers down, butts his forehead against Ichigo's and doesn't go for his mouth or his neck or anything at all involving his daemon-devouring teeth and too-trusting human skin. 

"Seriously, if you got any doubt at all we can wait."

"... I don't. I don't have any doubts at all." Ichigo cracks a smile. "That's really weird, don't you think?" 

Grimmjow nods patiently. "So in other words what you mean is, wah, wah, I'm a little bitch and I have cold feet."

Ichigo punches his thigh.

Then he borderline slaps his hand on top of Leucanthe's skull. 

Grimmjow doesn't bother figuring out if he wants to laugh or be offended for more than a single second. It feels...

It feels. 

Warm and curious, wondering -- like fingers wriggling through his metaphysical guts and it doesn't hurt at all. He slumps into Ichigo's chest and Leucanthe slumps against his back, purring like an engine, and they...

Yes. Look at me. _Know_ me. I want you to. Every single victory clawed out from defeat, every loss -- the shameful and the respectable and the strangely fun -- the savage glory of his first emergence out of the menos grande hivemind, his pack-pride-fracción (the complicated tangles of trust and wariness and everything they haven't wanted to look at about losing Shawlong and Yylfordt) and his oversensitive pride and his wariness and the intolerable, forcefully ignored gaping lack of half his soul, here it is. Touch it. 

It's transcendental. Everything Ichigo and Rikuto respond to with awe or amusement or quiet sadness instead of hostility or calculation or denial -- it's a high. Knowing that trust was merited and having it proven are worlds apart. It's an exhilarating relief, freefall into a mound of pillows and feathers. 

_'Oh, I touched yours so it's just fair that you get to touch mine'_ his entire ass. He was so fucking transparent about it. 

He is so stupidly thirsty for more of this boy. 

He mouths blindly up and down Ichigo's temple, his cheek, his neck as Ichigo's fingers sink in the fur at Leucanthe's cheeks; they sway together. Rikuto breathing on his bare shoulder and grooming at Leucanthe's throat and the line of her shoulder, a tangle of sensations. Skin and fur, warm, alive. Wanting. 

There's a hand curled on his waist, knuckles brushing against the fur of Leucanthe's belly. They are all four of them incandescent with purely mental pleasure, with bone-deep satisfaction, and when he reaches under his daemon's neck for the other daemon's jaw he knows to the millimeter where Leucanthe's fur stops and Rikuto's identical black fur starts, and he's absolutely going to find out whether their textures are any different.

"Grimmjow-san, I still had some questions to--"

The click of the lock has both cats jumping straight up like they're on springs -- Rikuto actually hits the lamp, and it swings wildly as she lands back down halfway on the table and upends it, sending everyone to the floor. Grimmjow shoves forward to avoid his legs getting trapped under the heavy edge as it falls like a guillotine and collides with Ichigo, who lands sideways in a chair and almost topples it in turn. 

When the chaos stops Grimmjow is leaning over him, hands on the wall and on his thigh to pin him down; Ichigo is still desperately gripping the back of the chair to keep from slipping off. Rikuto is out of sight behind the fallen table and Leucanthe is shaking her head in confusion, sprawled in the entryway.

Kisuke and Waki stare at them for a small eternity before anyone says anything.

"We weren't doing anything!" Ichigo yell-chokes. "You startled us! You could have knocked or something--"

Kisuke blinks slowly. Waki tilts her little head.

"You... weren't doing anything."

Then they pointedly look away from Ichigo and toward Grimmjow, who has just straightened up.

And then they look... down... him.

"That is a... pretty _sizeable_ nothing."

Grimmjow looks down. 

Oh. Right. He's still naked.

Also his dick is doing a sword salute or something. 

Huh. He didn't even notice.

Ichigo _shrieks_ ; throws himself up off the chair, stares down at Grimmjow's crotch, turns his back, turns back to face him again, angles his head back to look at the ceiling, then starts scanning every corner of the room except the one Grimmjow occupies for whoever knows what.

"Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh fuck. You were naked. You were naked all along. I forgot you were naked. Holy shit I forgot you were naked. Where's some -- there were clothes, Tessai said clothes --"

He doesn't find clothes, which are ... on the chair he just sat on and just under his nose, so he tears off his shirt, raking all of his hair up ridiculously, and shoves it at Grimmjow without looking. He kind of punches Grimmjow in the tit, then retracts his hand and the shirt instantly, then offers it again with elbow bent, still making little shrieky noises under his breath.

Grimmjow gives a slow blink.

"What am I supposed to do with that, hang it on my dick?" 

" _Grimmjow!_ " 

Grimmjow takes it anyway, generously holds it in front of his crotch, rolling his eyes a bit. "It's still gonna come up from underneath if I put it on normally, just saying. It ain't that long."

Ichigo whimpers. Rikuto moans from behind the table. Waki clears her throat and starts grooming her wing as Kisuke's shoulders start shaking suspiciously.

"On the chair, Kurosaki-san." 

Ichigo finds some underwear, flings it at his head. Grimmjow steps into it with a snort. 

"I'm also wondering how you missed that, Kurosaki-san. It's a pretty big thing to miss."

Yeah, it's clear the Uraharas think they were planning to fuck. Which is something he's entirely fine about, because touching daemons is not something he's ashamed of but also something that belongs to no one else. That and he knows Ichigo and Rikuto would feel way worse about it being known. 

"I already made the joke about dick proportions last time, Waki, you can't thieve it off me."

Ichigo whips around to stare at him, caught between googling and scowling. "When did he see your -- you -- naked?"

"... First time I put on a gigai? Didn't have clothes then either." He settles the waistband of his boxers properly over his still-hard dick, then sees about putting on Ichigo's shirt. It's too tight at the shoulders, but he doesn't care. He'll just not breathe too hard for a while or something. "I don't know why he doesn't store them dressed, honestly. You getting off on this, Urahara?"

"Immeasurably," Kisuke replies blandly. "Well, I'll give you a little while to finish getting dressed. After that I would like to discuss the state of the labs and the buildings in general, if you don't mind, Grimmjow-san."

He turns around to leave; Waki turns on his shoulder, so she's still facing them even as he retreats, and caws, "And please do not desecrate any more of our furniture!"

Rikuto and Ichigo both yell a mortified "Shut up!" at the same time; then the door closes.

In the silence afterwards, it's really easy to hear Waki and Kisuke start laughing their asses off. 

"...Auuuugh."

Grimmjow reaches over Ichigo's head as Ichigo crumples down into a crouch to hug his knees, picks up the rest of the clothes from the chair, gets dressed. Jeans, socks, boots. Nice. 

Ichigo is still making whale noises into his knees. Grimmjow kicks him half-heartedly. "You done?"

"I _forgot you were naked_."

"I'll let you get a better ogle next time," Grimmjow promises carelessly, and pulls Ichigo to his feet by the back of his undershirt. He feels really nice -- calm and steady, amused.

Soothed down to his soul.

"I don't want a better ogle," Ichigo hisses back. 

Grimmjow sticks a thumb in his waistband and makes to pull everything back down. Ichigo flushes right back to arterial red, eyes stuck on the pubes and the still-hidden bulge. 

"Yeah, I believe that," Grimmjow purrs through a widening smirk, and leans in to steal a nibble at his lips.

"Is it too late to dump you," Ichigo grumbles as Rikuto catches Leucanthe's ear with her teeth. Leucanthe laughs low in her throat, pressed flank to flank, and curls her tail around hers.

"It's too _early_ to dump me. Fucking dump me after I marathon ride your dick while you're using Leucanthe as a backrest and Rikuto's grooming my hair or some shit, okay?"

"... That is the most _decadent_ , _perverted_ thing I have ever heard." Ichigo is still crimson, looks halfway to swooning. He meets Grimmjow's eyes and despite all that he still grins somehow. "Let's work up to it, okay? Take maybe a short couple of years or something."

"Yeah, sure," Grimmjow agrees very agreeably, and rubs his chin against his shoulder with casual possessiveness just like his daemon is doing to Ichigo's. Ichigo rolls his eyes, and elbows him in the ribs, and before he hurries through the door like a thief he steals a last, almost chaste kiss. 

\--

"But seriously what was the problem with Bonboni."

"Moustache allergy."


End file.
